


I Ship It

by bomberqueen17



Series: Two-Body Problem [3]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, M/M, noshameficathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 05:50:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bomberqueen17/pseuds/bomberqueen17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'd read a couple of awesome fics featuring some great secondary characters and thought maybe I could stand to introduce a few of my own since I seem to be writing kind of a novel, yikes. So I made up a scientist who joins the expedition in its second year, shows up not long after Conversion, so Sheppard is still slouching around the base recovering from being a bug, and McKay is perhaps mellowing a bit from being a holy terror.<br/>And then it went right off the rails into left field, and I sort of shelved it, vaguely annoyed at how OOC Sheppard was going.<br/>And then the scandal broke with Caitlin Moran forcing the actors from Sherlock to read fanfiction featuring their characters-- *gasp* EROTIC fanfiction, HOMOEROTIC fanfiction, like it was the worst thing in the world-- and suddenly my strange left-field veer didn't seem so bad after all.<br/>So I'm publishing this, in honor of #noshameficathon on Tumblr.<br/>Because fuck shame.</p><p>Gen, implied slash, OFC, fangirling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started off gen, but chapter 2 is explicit slash.  
> *jazz hands* EROTIC FANFICTION NO SHAME.
> 
> Update:  
> Oh! The fic I sort of refer to where John is an asexual furry is actually a very sweet, lovely, astonishingly completely-not-weird and not-even-OOC fic by Busaikko called [A Mark In Time](http://archiveofourown.org/works/104022%20). Sorry if that's a spoiler, read it anyway, because it's so wonderful and manages to represent two sexual identities that almost always get terrible representation if they get any at all.

“The dating pool is kind of similar to that of Alaska,” Dr. Masako Yamamoto was saying, as she led Tara down the hallway. “The odds, as they say, are good, but the goods are odd.”

“I was warned that the gender ratio is pretty wildly skewed male here,” Tara said drily, “but, well, I’m a mechanical engineer.”

“The scientists are more gender-balanced than we used to be,” Yamamoto said. She was a soft scientist of some sort, and had been here about three months. “But the military contingent is still pretty heavily male. Good news, if you like guys with real short haircuts. Bad news, if you like guys of the laid-back, easygoing sort.”

“I don’t know that anyone on this expedition qualifies as laid-back or easygoing,” Tara said. “For that matter, anyone in the SGC as a whole.”

“True enough,” Yamamoto said. “Well, this here is the main lab the mechanical engineers use, so I’ll drop you off here. Someone in your department will most likely give you the rest of the tour. You know where I live if you need me. You’ll get used to the radios. And every other Wednesday is Ladies’ Poker Night, to which everyone who identifies as female is invited. This is an on week.”

“Gotcha,” Tara said. “Count me in, for that.”

“I’m just going to give you one bit of warning, which you’ve probably heard hints of elsewhere,” Yamamoto said. “Our boss, who is sometimes your direct boss since he does a fair bit of the mechanical engineering stuff, is notoriously hard to get along with. You have doubtless heard legends about Rodney McKay.”

“Oh,” Tara said, “yes, I have.”

“He’s petty, arrogant, and bad with people,” Yamamoto said, “and flies off into rages, and goes off on rants, but I’m going to give you a couple of pointers that might help you find him tolerable. The first is that he has saved the lives of everyone on this base several times. He is actually _almost_ as good as he thinks he is. And the second is that he is absolutely, adorably in love. I mean, puppy-dog, smitten, sweet-faced, soft-eyed in love, or as close as a miserable cuss like him can get. The quiz on Tuesday will be to see if you’ve figured out who he’s in love _with_.”

“Oh,” Tara said, intrigued. 

“You’ll have a leg up on the others in figuring it out,” Yamamoto said. “It’s a game we always play with the newcomers. You have the advantage that you’ll be working directly with him. But the real test is to see if this person he’s in love with loves him back. Opinion is sharply divided on this. I ship it, myself, but some people say it’s one-sided.”

“You… ship it…” Tara said. 

“Like FedEx,” Yamamoto said solemnly, nodding as if that weren’t a completely bizarre thing to say. “Anyway, enjoy your first day on the job. See you at lunch, if you don’t get sucked in.”

And with that, she was gone.

 

McKay was indeed a terror. He stormed in, shouting at a frizzy-haired little man in glasses, and the two of them argued for a solid three minutes before they even so much as noticed that anyone else was in the room. They seemed to be arguing about the structural stability of one of the desalinization tanks but most of the conversation was in disjointed sentences impossible to follow, with lengthy disparaging asides about one another’s parentage. 

Finally the little man threw up his hands and stalked away, then saw Tara. “Oh,” he said, “you are new. Fresh meat?”

Tara hesitated. “I arrived on the Daedalus yesterday,” she said. “Tara Allen, mechanical engineering.” 

“Pleased to meet you,” the little man said. “Radek Zelenka.” 

“Oh yes,” she said. She had read extensive reports about/by him. McKay was standing next to him, mouth more crooked even than it was in his file photographs (and hairline a fair bit further back). “And Dr. McKay, I presume?” 

“Ha ha,” he said drily, and she had to cast back and recall what she’d said. “Welcome aboard. Try not to kill us right away.”

“I’ll do my best,” she said, “but I can only promise so much.”

McKay gave her a piercing look, then turned and raised an eyebrow as he exchanged another look with Zelenka. Zelenka shrugged. “I see,” McKay said. “Well, you’re with Zelenka, he can show you the ropes, or assign someone to. I have an offworld mission I have to go prepare for, and Zelenka is trying to keep the city from sinking.”

“Sounds useful,” she said, and followed Zelenka down the hall.

Zelenka was nice enough; a little awkward and slightly inadvertently creepy, especially since at his height he kept nearly coming face to face with Tara’s not inconsiderable breasts and then blushing and stammering about them. He was no worse than she was used to, though, and he was unmistakably brilliant. 

Finally she got up the nerve to ask him what she’d been wondering ever since she read the job description. “So,” she said, “off-word missions. How often do scientists get to go on those?”

Zelenka shot her a slightly alarmed look over his glasses. “Some of us do it as seldom as possible,” he said. “Some are unfortunate enough to wind up in a permanent position on a gate team.”

“I _want_ to be on a gate team,” she said. “I’m in another galaxy! I’m a good shot! I can run! I want to have adventures.”

Zelenka stared at her, pushing his glasses up his nose. “My God,” he said, “you’re insane.”

“You’re not on a gate team,” she said. “Why not?”

“Please,” Zelenka said. “I have seen enough of fighting, enough of war. I have come here because I am not afraid of danger, but I do not seek it out. I am not eager to go and be killed on alien planet. You realize attrition rate on gate teams is not inconsiderable.”

“I’m not afraid,” she said. “I realize that there’s a reasonably high risk of dying even if I never leave Atlantis. If I were afraid, I’d still be in Colorado, fondling the few scraps of Ancient tech that make it back to us.”

Zelenka eyed her. “You have the gene?”

She nodded. “The therapy,” she clarified. 

“Then you are more likely to wind up on a team,” he said. “If you are serious, you must befriend some military types. Most of the teams are largely military. You say you can shoot guns? Go to the firing range and catch someone’s eye. That is the best way, I think.” He tilted his head a little, self-deprecating. “Though I would not know, I have been trying to _avoid_ getting put onto a gate team.”

 

It was two in the morning local time, and Tara surfaced from her perusal of the database only because she had to pee. She went to the restroom down the hall from the lab (she was getting the hang of having her waste immediately vaporized, but it was still jarring), realized what time it was, and came back to power down the lab computer she’d been using. There was only one other person left in the lab, and she detoured over to where the desk lamp was still on to see who it was. 

“Dr. McKay,” she said. 

He blinked, shifted his eyes up past his monitor to look at her, and blinked several more times. She knew the feeling. “Collin,” he said. “Ellen.”

“Allen,” she said. “Tara.”

“Right,” he said. He blinked again, took a deeper breath, and sat up straighter, collecting himself. “Shit, what time is it?”

“It’s like 0200 local time,” she said. “I lost track.”

“I frequently do,” he said. He rubbed at his face. 

“I figured I’d make sure I wasn’t the last one out,” she said. “I won’t hit the lights, if you’re staying.”

“Oh,” McKay said, “no, I’m out.” He stretched his shoulders, and got to his feet. He wasn’t that old, she thought, probably not even forty yet, and he was actually pretty athletic-looking. She supposed he could probably run. 

“How did you get on a gate team?” she asked. 

He looked surprised as he shut his computer down. “Sheppard drafted me,” he said. “I didn’t really have much choice in the matter.”

“Hm,” she said. “I want to go offworld. Who should I talk to? Zelenka just thought I was crazy.”

“You are crazy,” McKay said. “Going offworld is insane.” He gave her an assessing look. “But your skillset’s probably pretty in-demand. Talk to Lorne, Sheppard’s in charge of it but Lorne pretty much does all his work.”

“Lorne,” she said blankly. 

“Major Lorne,” McKay said. His computer finally powered down and he retrieved a tablet from the desk and began to walk toward the door. “His office isn’t far from Elizabeth’s. He’s the XO— that’s the executive officer?”

“I’m familiar with the military command structure,” Tara said, smiling to take the sting out. 

“Not everybody is,” McKay said. He gave her another sidelong assessing look. “Can you shoot?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m even certified on the P90.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Good,” he said.

“And I can run two miles in twelve minutes,” she added. 

“I have no idea if that’s fast or not,” McKay said, “but Lorne will probably be impressed, if it’s something you’re bothering to mention.”

 

Tara went looking for Lorne’s office the very next morning. Chuck, the sergeant who manned the control room’s main console most mornings, gave her an odd look but pointed her down a hallway. She followed his directions and found herself lost. There were several doorways, but most seemed to lead to closets. Finally she walked past one that opened into a room with a big window and a couple of desks in it. One of the desks, further from the door, was occupied by a man in a hand-knitted blue hat, who had civilian-booted feet up on the desk and was reading from a tablet propped on his chest. 

She rapped timidly on the wall, and he looked up in confusion, inexplicably looking at the window before he looked toward the door. When he saw her, he dropped his feet from the battered desk and sat forward, then stood up. He was in a military uniform, partially— BDU trousers, a thigh holster with a sidearm, but on top he was wearing an incongrous knitted sweater in shades of green and blue, and a blue scarf that matched the hat. “Can I help you?” he asked politely.

“I’m looking for Major Lorne,” she said. “I think I’m lost, though. Chuck said his office was this way.”

“Oh,” the man said, “this is his office. He’s just offworld, at the moment. What did you want to talk to him about?”

The man’s rank insignia were covered by the ridiculous sweater, she realized. He must be Lorne’s assistant or secretary or something. “I’m not sure he’s the right one to talk to,” she said, a little frustrated. “There’s not a very clear procedure for it.”

“I can probably steer you right,” the man said with a half-grin. He was actually kind of ridiculously attractive, now that she looked at him, despite the goofy hat. Well, it was kinda cold in here; she could kinda see where he was coming from. Mid-thirties, fine jaw, keen hazel eyes, full mouth, lean body. “What did you wanna know?”

“I just came in on the _Daedalus_ ,” she said. “I’m a mechanical engineer. But I want very badly to go offworld, and I’d ideally like to be placed on a gate team. McKay told me to talk to Major Lorne about that, though he indicated it might actually be Lt. Colonel Sheppard’s job and just one of the many things Lorne does instead.”

The man laughed at that. “Lorne does do an awful lot around here,” he said. “But I do know about the gate teams, as it happens. Have a seat.” He waved at one of the chairs along the wall of the oddly-shaped room, and sat back down at his desk, poking at the tablet again. “Generally we like to get people pretty well-oriented before we send ‘em offworld, make sure they’re vaccinated against everything, fill ‘em in on as many of the hazards as we can, get ‘em qualified on standard weapons and tactics.”

“I’m certified on the M-9 and the P90,” Tara said, “and I can run 2 miles in 12 minutes and know most of the standard field hand signals in use by the US Military.”

His eyebrows went up a little and he tilted his head, nodding slightly. “That’s a pretty decent start,” he said. “And the fact that you want to do it is a pretty good leg up too. We sometimes have trouble finding volunteers. I’ll take your name down and make sure you’re included in the next round of field orientation sessions.” He gave her a grin, a really winning one— yeah, he was pretty hot. “What makes you so hot to get out there?”

“I’m in another galaxy,” she said. “That’s so fuckin’ cool. I want to see everything I can possibly see.”

He nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. “To be honest, I’m also real interested in seeing the gender ratios improve on away teams. Pegasus culture is a little more gender-balanced than military Earth culture is, there are a lot of matriarchies, and it looks bad to have things as unequal as we do.” 

Tara smiled. “I’m used to being the only woman in a crowd,” she said. “So it’s nice to see an effort being made.”

“That too,” the man said. He smiled again. “Anyway, welcome to Atlantis. Give me your name and department and I’ll see to it you hear from us shortly.”

 

The next time she saw Attractive Sweater Guy he was in her lab, leaning on one of the lab benches in a manner that could best be described as insouciant. (In fourth grade, Tara had been told her English skills were lacking, and so she’d gotten one of those word-a-day calendars annually ever since from her stepmother. Despite the inherent backhanded compliment, she still used them. Why not?) 

He was identifiably in uniform, though in place of the BDU tunic or the ridiculous sweater he was wearing a black zip-up mock turtleneck. He didn’t have the hat on either, though he must have recently removed it, as his dark hair was sticking up every which-way, astonishingly messy. Still no rank insignia, but he was more clearly military in this outfit. The thigh holster was still in place, and he was single-handedly bringing her around to a more sexy, less utilitarian viewpoint on the things. The weapon in it wasn’t an M-9, though, she noticed— she couldn’t identify it, but it wasn’t quite the same familiar grip. 

The lab bench he was leaning on belonged to McKay at the moment. McKay was rolling his eyes as the guy spoke, but wasn’t yelling at him, and even seemed to be tolerating him agreeably. “Yes, if you ignore, oh, the laws of physics, and also the rules of logic,” McKay was saying. 

“I ignore ‘em all the time,” the guy drawled, “and look how that works out for me.” He saw Tara as she walked in, and waved lazily at her. “Hey, Dr. Allen,” he said. He jerked his head at her and looked over at McKay. “She tells me you told her Major Lorne does most of Sheppard’s work for him.”

“No,” McKay said, “I told her Lorne does _all_ of Sheppard’s work for him.”

“Fair enough,” the guy said, amused. McKay was looking at her, eyes narrowed, and she couldn’t parse the expression. “Anyway, Dr. Allen wants to be on a gate team.” He said this with curious emphasis.

McKay’s expression cleared. “Oh,” he said. “Yes.” It struck Tara that his expression had been suspicion. He was jealous of the attention the guy was paying her. This was it! This was the answer! This was who McKay was in love with! It _had_ to be. That was why people didn’t pick up on it— nobody expected a guy who’d so casually sexually harassed so many women to turn out to be gay. (Come to think of it, though, despite his reputation, McKay hadn’t said anything particularly sexually offensive the entire time Tara had been here. Either he’d mellowed, or she’d happened to catch him at a good time. If he was as in love with this guy as rumor had it, meaning all his attention was devoted that way, that might explain it.) “Well, you know, there are worse ways of spending your time. Though I think we need to guarantee the structural integrity of the desalinization tanks before we start her haring off to other worlds in search of dubious sexual liasons and disease-ridden fruit.”

The guy laughed, stepping a tiny bit closer into McKay’s personal space. McKay’s whole posture went taut, eager, fascinated. Yes. This guy. McKay was giving him a disgusted look, but his posture was unmistakable, drawn to the guy like a magnet. “I dunno, Rodney, how many STD’s and fruit-borne diseases have _you_ picked up offworld?” 

McKay let his head flop slightly sideways, pinning the guy with a dark stare under his eyebrows. “Oh, ha very ha,” he said. “We can’t all be Lotharios.” 

The guy rolled his eyes and gave Tara a what-can-you-do look. “Like _I_ do _so much_ whoring,” he said, turning back to McKay. His expression was a little beyond tolerant, though, and into fond. Tara needed more data. She could see why there was controversy over whether the object of McKay’s affections loved him back. The guy’s features were mobile, but tightly controlled, and it was hard to read anything he didn’t want read.

“You and your alien princesses,” McKay said distractedly, already turning back to his monitor, but his body was still palpably magnetized toward the other man’s. 

“You know me,” the man said, audibly sarcastic. He shook his head at Tara. “Anyway. There’s a field orientation session tomorrow morning at ten-hundred in the equipment room by the armory. Be there or be square.” He pushed off from McKay’s lab bench and sauntered out of the room, appealingly bow-legged. McKay watched him go, transfixed— Tara didn’t think he was staring at the man’s ass, or anything so crude as that, just watching him assessingly, as if to memorize him. 

McKay caught Tara watching him, and drew himself up. “He’s still far too thin,” he said, shaking his head. “I wish it took me as long to gain weight back as it does him.”

“Yes,” Tara said, laughing, “it’d be a nice problem to have.” Maybe some other time she’d ask why his boyfriend had lost so much weight. He didn’t look bad, to her— he was obviously built lean anyway— but she could see how he could maybe stand to put on a few pounds.

 

She was in the equipment room near the armory by 09:45 local time. (The 28-hour days took some getting used to, but she was getting there.) There was a soldier there already, a captain (unlike _some_ , he was in full regulation uniform including rank insignia on his collar), sitting on the bench by the door, fiddling with a notepad and paper. She introduced herself. “Are you leading the session?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “I’m Captain James Speedwell, I’m trying to put together an offworld team of my own after shadowing the existing ones for a couple of months. Figured I’d sit in on the orientation sessions and see who’s looking for a position.” 

She sat next to him on the bench. “I’ve been here less than a week,” she said, “but before I even made up my mind to come out here, I knew I wanted to be on a gate team. I decided on Atlantis when I realized that the teams operating out of Cheyenne Mountain never do nearly as much cool stuff as they do out here.”

The captain looked amused. “Fair point,” he said. “I’ve been on Milky Way gate expeditions, but not many. I came out here a few months back because I just thought it would be incredibly cool. Plus… I got a reputation for being a little bit difficult, and the commanding officer out here is supposed to be a bit sympathetic to that.”

“Is he?” Tara asked. 

“So far, he’s pretty cool,” Speedwell said, “but he’s been in the infirmary most of the time I’ve been here, so it’s hard to judge. I like Major Lorne just fine, at least, but I just don’t know Sheppard all that well.” 

“I haven’t met him yet,” Tara said. “But I’ve met McKay. He’s my boss.”

Speedwell laughed. “Good luck with that,” he said. “Funny, though. Usually where McKay is, Sheppard’s not too far away. They hang out all the time.”

Tara frowned. “How have I not met Sheppard yet, then? Maybe I have, and I just…”

“Oh,” Speedwell said, “you remember Sheppard. If you met him, you’d know.”

“What, is he distinctive?” 

Speedwell snorted. “He’s kind of… magnetic,” he said. “Half the base wants to get in his pants. Including a lot of guys who wouldn’t have thought they were gay. Not that I think Sheppard’s gay either, but, you know.”

“Oh, my,” Tara said. 

“I haven’t been here long enough for it to kick in,” Speedwell said, “but even I occasionally catch myself staring at him. We got a theory it’s his ATA gene interacting with the city and making everyone nuts. Thing is, though, while he’s a total fuck-up on paper, he does have a way of keeping us all alive. So there’s that.”

“That’s not how the ATA gene works,” Tara said, frowning. 

Speedwell laughed. “Probably not,” he said. “It’s more likely that it’s just space sickness.”

The Marine sergeant leading the session came in, then, along with half a dozen other scientists. Tara sat next to Speedwell and paid keen attention. There was a training program, and she signed up for it, blocking the times carefully into her schedule. Most of the sessions sounded really cool— there was a session on everything they’d learned about Wraith tech, from the standpoint of how to manipulate it if, for example, you found yourself on a Wraith ship, or if you encountered a wrecked Wraith dart, how to tell if it had a self-destruct armed, or a locator beacon. There was a session on hotwiring doors and excavating consoles. And there was a session on reverse-engineering DHDs and associated ring-dialing problems. 

“This is gonna be awesome,” Tara said to Speedwell at the end of the session, vaguely aware that she was grinning like a lunatic. 

“Yeah,” Speedwell said. “Generally.”

 

She managed to find her way to the mess hall by herself, and stood a moment with her tray, trying to figure out where to sit. She didn’t see anybody she knew. There weren’t many people she did know, yet, but she’d sort of figured at least one of them would be here. She dithered, not wanting to sit alone. 

“Hey,” a voice said, “you look lost.”

It was Attractive Sweater Guy. He was wearing the on-base military uniform, charcoal gray with the black panels on the chest. No rank insignia, or insignia of any kind for that matter— just blank Velcro patches where they’d been detached. “Hi,” she said. “I sort of assumed I’d run into someone I know, here, but I don’t know anybody.”

“Well,” he said, “you know me. C’mon, sit down.”

“Thanks,” she said, and sat across the table from him.

“Eh,” he said, “Rodney actually said you didn’t annoy him, so I figure I should reward that kind of behavior.”

“Didn’t annoy him,” Tara said. “Is that high praise? By his reputation I kind of suspect it might be.”

“Oh,” Attractive Guy said, “it is.”

Tara laughed. “I went to the field orientation session like you suggested. I’m so excited about it. I can’t believe not everybody wants to do it!”

“I know, right?” He grinned. “People are crazy. Not that the city isn’t awesome, of course.” 

“I’ve been able to explore a little bit, with Dr. Zelenka,” she said. “I’ve enjoyed that a great deal.”

“You said you do mechanical engineering?” He looked speculative. “I think I might have a position in mind for you. Once you’ve got your bearings, of course.”

“Cool,” she said. They ate in companionable silence for a couple of minutes— Attractive Guy kept scanning the entrance, like he was waiting for other people to join him, but he also had an eye on his watch, so she figured he was probably on a tight schedule. 

“How do you like the city so far?” he asked. 

“It’s pretty cool,” she said. “I like the people, too. I was warned it’s a bunch of weirdos, and I’m pleased to report that’s true.”

Attractive Guy laughed. “Fair,” he said. He looked at his watch again. “Damn it. I gotta head out. Hate to eat and run, but, I’ll catch you later. I’m doing one of the sessions with you guys later, firearms safety— it’ll definitely be a review for you but I like to standardize everybody on it.” 

“I noticed your sidearm’s not standard-issue,” she said. 

He grinned. “Yeah? It’s not. It’s an M1911A. Bought it in memory of a friend, a few years back.”

“Oh!” she said, as memory stirred. “You mean like, a Colt 45?”

“Bingo,” he said. “It is. It’s a Colt 45. Single-action, so it’s a little trickier, but if you’re into snap-shooting… well, it’s kind of a hotshot gun, and I figured, you know, I don’t indulge myself much with that kinda stuff, really, despite what people say.” He gestured. “I’d get it out and show you but it’s pretty rude to pull a sidearm in the mess hall, even just for bragging purposes.”

“It sounds cool,” she said. 

“I’ll show it to you at the session,” he said. “I tell you what, you don’t even wanna know what kind of favors I had to do for the engineering department to get ‘em to reload the cartridges for me, back when we were cut off and there was no guaranteed resupply.”

“I bet,” she said. 

He sketched her a half-assed fake salute and stood up. “Gotta go. Catch you around.”

“Awesome,” she said, and smiled at him. He grinned back, took his tray, and left.

 

 

“I really don’t know how you’ve made it this long without meeting Colonel Sheppard,” Yamamoto said, sitting on the edge of Tara’s spare chair. “He’s in this lab all the damn time.” 

Tara shook her head. “I still haven’t,” she said. “I don’t know how. Everyone says he’s so good-looking, too, I’m really curious.”

“He is,” Yamamoto said, “if you like skinny white boys. Okay, I guess he’s not _that_ skinny.”

“It’s not that I haven’t seen some very nice man-candy,” Tara said. “Oh, like, hey, Dr. McKay’s boyfriend is _totally_ hot.”

“Who?” Yamamoto almost spit out the sip of tea she’d just taken. “Wait, Dr. McKay’s boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” Tara said. “The, um, the guy.” She frowned. “I’ve talked to him a ton of times. I forget his name. Lorne’s assistant.”

“Lorne’s… assistant,” Yamamoto said. 

“Yeah,” Tara said. “He comes in here all the time. McKay’s totally in love with him, watches him all the time and leans in when he talks and all of it. Definitely, totally in love. He’s a little harder to read, though, the boyfriend— they’re definitely involved, it’s definitely mutual on some level, but I don’t know how intense the boyfriend’s feelings are. That’s the quiz, right?”

Yamamoto was kind of staring at her, and she blinked back. “C’mon,” she said, “I’m sure you know him. Like six feet or so, kinda lanky, crazy hair, real pretty kinda greenish eyes.”

“Isn’t it late for you to still be here?” McKay said, pausing in the doorway with a cup of coffee in one hand and a sandwich in the other. “I thought it was Ladies’ Poker Night.” He enunciated the last words with careful almost-disgust.

“I’m just wrapping up,” Tara said. Greatly daring, since things had been going so well, she added, “What’s your boyfriend’s name again?”

McKay went completely blank. “My what?”

“You know,” she said. “The guy, always comes around, leans on your lab bench…” She trailed off; Yamamoto was making crazy eyes at her. “What?”

McKay squinted at her. “Colonel Sheppard?” he said. “He’s not— that is—“ He went a little pink.

Tara shook her head. “No, I’ve never met Colonel Sheppard,” she said. “I mean the guy that comes in here all the time. With the blue hat, and the goofy green sweater he has no right to look so good in. I think he never introduced himself, now I think of it, but he was in Lorne’s office when I went looking for him. He’s military, I’m sure of it, and he has to be an officer, but he never wears rank insignia.” She waved a hand. “I thought he was your boyfriend. He’s totally hot, if he’s not you should snap him up before somebody else does.”

“That’s Colonel Sheppard,” Yamamoto said gently. “That you’re describing.”

“I’m what?” Attractive Guy came in the door, just in time to catch his name. “What have I done now? Rodney, don’t tell me you’re skippin’ dinner. C’mon, don’t stand me up for a sandwich, _again_.”

“That guy,” Tara said, pointing at him. “You never introduced yourself.”

Attractive Guy blinked, and the other two looked somewhat wide-eyed. “Me?” He looked around at the others. “Oh. I figured you knew who I was, I was in my office and my name’s on the door.”

“I was looking for Lorne’s office,” Tara said, embarrassment creeping up through her slowly: had she really been so far off-base in her identification of the guy? “And the door was open so I didn’t see any sign.”

The guy looked blank. “Lorne and I share an office,” he said. “Lorne’s my XO, it just makes sense.” She stared at him, and he looked a little uncomfortable. “Sorry?”

“He’s Colonel Sheppard,” Yamamoto said, quietly.

“Really?” Tara said. 

“He comes by all the time because he’s my team leader,” McKay filled in. 

“Not his boyfriend,” Yamamoto filled in. 

“Oh,” Tara said. She crossed her arms over her chest indignantly. “Well, you guys should hook up! You’d be a cute couple.”

To everyone’s evident surprise, Sheppard laughed. “What, me and Rodney?” McKay looked distinctly unnerved, and Tara had the sinking feeling that his crush on Sheppard was supposed to be a secret. But Sheppard, unfazed, winked at her. “That’d involve me talkin’ about my feelings, and the magical spells that keep Atlantis from sinking require me never to discuss my emotions.”

“Uh,” McKay said. Yamamoto looked as though she were trying to teleport away from this conversation. 

“I see,” Tara said. Had that wink been a yes? It might well have been. “Masako ships it like Fedex,” she said, remembering, and pointed at Yamamoto. 

Yamamoto buried her face in her hands. “Oh my God,” she said. 

“Ships it,” McKay said, utterly confused.

Sheppard laughed, a honking guffaw of laughter. “I _like_ that,” he said. “Ships it like Fedex. That’s shipping like in, um, in fanfiction, right? That’s where that comes from?”

Yamamoto peered out from between her fingers. “McShep,” she squeaked. 

“It originated in X-Files fanfic,” Tara put in. “I had to look it up because I didn’t know what it meant. Shipping, from relationshipping, meaning fans who preferred to believe the characters shared a romantic relationship, or at least who chose to explore that option through fan-created works.”

“Mc _Shep_ ,” Sheppard said, voice cracking and both eyebrows climbing toward his hairline, or perhaps it was his hairline coming down toward his eyebrows.

“Oh my God,” McKay said, mortified too now. 

“Do people actually write fanfic about— can you _do_ that, about real people?” Sheppard demanded, but he was transparently amused. 

“RPF,” Yamamoto squeaked. “RPS, if it’s slash.”

“Slash means gay, right?” Sheppard said. “Kirk slash Spock, right? Oh man I’ve read a shitload of that, it’s _great_.”

“Oh my sweet Jesus Christ,” McKay said. 

“Is this on the Atlantis intranet?” Sheppard demanded. 

“I can’t tell you that,” Yamamoto wailed, clamping her hands back down over her face.

“Oh my God,” Sheppard said. “That’s a yes. It totally is.”

“God in heaven,” McKay said. “That’s— oh Jesus Christ.”

“This is the best day of my _life_ ,” Sheppard said. “Is it graphic? Is it smutty? Do I have a lot of feelings? It’s totally on the Atlantis intranet. This is fucking phenomenal. Is there pon farr?”

“Nobody told me this,” Tara said. “Nobody told me anything about this.”

“There’s one where you’re penguins,” Yamamoto said from between her hands. “And another one where you’re vampires. And a whole bunch where you’re into BDSM.”

“Oh my God,” Sheppard said, openly delighted. 

“There are also a lot of Jeyla shippers,” Yamamoto said, separating her hands a little more so her eyes showed.

“Jeyla,” Sheppard said. “Teyla and… oh! Me?”

“Yes,” she said. “But mostly it’s McShep.”

“If there were a God he would strike me dead in his mercy,” McKay said faintly. 

“Rodney, this is _awesome_ ,” Sheppard said, smacking Rodney in the arm with the back of his loosely curled hand. “What’s wrong with you? It’s like… it’s like Kirk/Spock! It’s venerable! It’s an honor! And it’s probably really gross so I’m only gonna read it if I’m drunk!” He swung back to Yamamoto. “You can’t tell _anyone_ that I know. You can’t!”

“Nooooo,” Yamamoto said, covering her face again. “You can’t ask it of me!”

“I’m serious,” Sheppard said. “I’m so serious! You can’t say a word!”

“I have violated our code of ethics by breathing a word of it,” Yamamoto said, bringing her hands down and looking pleadingly into Sheppard’s face. “To keep silent will compound my dishonor!”

“Good one,” Sheppard said, unfazed. “Nice try. C’mon, I _know_ you’re an anthropologist. Let this play out. Let me observe this in its native habitat. I swear I won’t use this knowledge to hurt anybody.”

Yamamoto’s lips twitched. “It was worth a shot,” she said. 

“C’mon,” Sheppard said. “I promise I won’t let on at all that I know anything.”

“It’s Ladies’ Poker Night,” Yamamoto said. “I cannot swear that such a tremendously juicy piece of gossip can stay safe behind my lips, in the face of such provocation.”

“Juicy gossip,” Sheppard said. “I’ll give you juicy gossip, if you promise, promise not to tell anybody I know. Do you promise?”

Yamamoto and Tara exchanged glances. Sheppard looked gravely at them, fighting the smile off his face, and Yamamoto finally nodded.

Sheppard grabbed the paralyzed McKay by the face and planted a big, smacking kiss right on his mouth. Yamamoto screamed. “There’s juicy gossip,” Sheppard said. “Tell them about that instead, and observe what changes it makes among the Jeyla shippers vs. The McSheppers.”

McKay made a faint whining noise, utterly gobsmacked. “Oh my God,” Tara said. “That was hot.”

“C’mon,” Sheppard said. “People have been assuming I was gay since before I even hit puberty. Let me enjoy it, this once.”

“I think I might be dead,” Yamamoto said. “Pinch me, Allen.”

Tara reached over and pinched her arm gently. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, with porn. NC-17. I'll change the rating on the story.  
> Note: John refers to a fanfic (which, in his universe, is RPS) wherein he's an asexual furry. When I wrote it, I couldn't remember whether I'd actually read such a thing or not, but I coincidentally rediscovered it just before publishing this-- it's a real fic, and it is *not*, despite what you'd think from that description, in any way a badfic. It's actually very sweet and not at all OOC.  
> Of course, I've lost it again, but it does exist and is out there.  
> I was going to write a really awful badfic for John to excerpt, and still might, but the attempts were bogging this down. So we're just getting phrases in this one. The sex is not actually intended to be bad, but well, I'll leave that to the eye of the beholder.

 

“Check it out,” John said gleefully, gesturing with the tablet in his hand. “There’s one where I’m an asexual furry.”

“What?” McKay snapped. “What does that even mean?”

“Don’t give me that,” John said. “Everyone knows what a furry is. C’mon.”

“I don’t,” McKay said, overly precise in his diction as he turned his attention back to his laptop screen.

“They dress up in animal costumes to fuck,” John said. “Only in this story, I’m asexual.”

“I don’t know what that is,” McKay said wearily, resigned. 

“It’s a sexual orientation,” John said. “When you don’t have sexual feelings.”

“So why would you dress up in an animal costume to fuck if you don’t have sexual feelings?” McKay asked, finally intrigued enough to look up from the screen. He mostly looked annoyed, but it was progress. 

“There are other reasons to dress up in a fursuit,” John said. “And apparently being asexual is a thing, and somebody here must be because there’s a whole informative section on it in the Atlantis wiki. There’s, like, a spectrum of sexual-ness. So in this story apparently I have a kitty fursuit and I just like to dress up in it and snuggle you.” He paused, thoughtful. “Actually that does sound kind of cozy. You don’t secretly have a fursuit lying around, do you?”

McKay peered over the edge of his laptop screen. “No,” he said slowly. “Why, do you?”

“No,” John said, and sighed. “Maybe I could just wear some really plushy sweats. I think that’s missing the point, though. It’s sort of sweet, really. A nice change from the sweaty humping.”

“Never use that phrase again,” McKay said with a shudder. 

“Oh,” John said, “oh, you want terrible phrasing— let me find it—“ 

“I don’t, actually,” Rodney said. “I could die happy without terrible phrasing.”

“Yadda yadda turgid member,” John said, scrolling, “yadda yadda weeping cock, something something engorged, throbbing manhood, yadda yadda oh this one’s great, moistened love-tunnel.”

“Stop,” Rodney said.

“There’s one in here where you get gang-banged by, like, literally all of the Marines,” John said. 

“ _Je_ sus,” Rodney said. 

“Don’t worry,” John said, “it’s pretty obvious that one of the engineers wrote it, there’s an astonishing lack of even rudimentary understanding of military terminology, or for that matter fluent English. The actual Marines obviously had nothing to do with this one. But there’s a fair bit of pretty loving detail, Rodney. Don’t worry, it’s totally consensual, you get off on it like crazy, and apparently the whole thing was my idea.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rodney said. “Stop.”

“Some of these are foursomes,” John said. “Like, our whole team. It’s pretty impressive. I mean, the choreography alone. The one where Teyla ritually pegs me is actually kind of hot. I mean, think about it!”

“Stop,” Rodney pleaded. 

“I should write one,” John mused. 

“Sheppard,” Rodney said, “fucking _stop_ already. I’m serious.”

John lowered the tablet. Rodney wasn’t looking at the computer anymore. He sighed. Mission accomplished; time to stop tormenting him. He put the tablet down and came and sat on the edge of the desk. “Okay,” he said. 

“I can’t believe you think it’s _funny_ ,” Rodney said. “These are… I’m these people’s boss. And you’ve been so terrified of rumors!”

John traced his fingers along Rodney’s jaw, turning his face upward, and pulled him in close, calming him with caresses. “C’mere,” he said, and bent to kiss Rodney’s mouth, long and slow and deep. 

Rodney stood up eventually, pressing his body in between John’s spread knees, sliding hands around to John’s ass. “It’s okay,” John said quietly, gazing up at him. “It’s different from rumors. These are so obviously fictional. It’s a great way to push more serious and potentially accurate rumors away. Lump ‘em in with this ridiculous stuff, and it totally takes the fangs out. There’s all kinds of stuff in this fic archive— fic about TV shows, movies, all kinds of things. So the fact that there’s a chunk devoted to real Atlantis people doesn’t matter. There are fics of me and Caldwell, Rodney. You and Zelenka. You and me and Ronon and Teyla. Me and Lorne. Me and Elizabeth. Elizabeth and Zelenka. Lorne and you. Lorne and Zelenka. You and me and Lorne and Zelenka. Me and transparent self-inserts of like every woman who works here. Yeah, you and I are the most common pairing, but… it’s perfect camouflage, Rodney. Plus it’s really cute.”

“Getting gang-banged by dozens of Marines is _not_ cute,” Rodney groused.

John nuzzled under Rodney’s jaw and bit at the point of his chin. “When it’s fictional, it’s actually kinda hot,” he said, letting his voice fall to a growling whisper.

There was a moment, and then Rodney answered, a little squeakily, “Really?”

“Oh,” John said, “yeah,” letting his voice sink way down low, resonating in the contact of his chest and Rodney’s. “Thinking about you spread out like that, hot and wet and desperate, all covered in cum and panting for more?” He scraped his teeth along the edge of Rodney’s jaw. “Such a nasty, filthy slut, taking it in the mouth and the ass at the same time, over and over, with your hole all fucked-out and full of cum, screaming and moaning and begging for it, bite-marks and cum streaks down your thighs. Oh, yeah, Rodney— fictionally, that’s hot.”

Rodney was so turned-on he was actually shuddering, eyelids fluttering shut. “Jesus Christ,” he whimpered. 

“Yeah I’d fly a puddlejumper straight into the sun to bleach my brain clean if you did that in real life,” John said, his voice abruptly back to normal just to feel Rodney jump at the jarring surprise of it. “But as a sexual fantasy? I could do worse.”

“You _dick_ ,” Rodney said breathlessly, indignant.

“General consensus seems to have it that you’re amazing in bed,” John said, a little coaxingly. “That you’re such a genius you use your giant genius brain to analyze your sexual partners and reduce them to so-much pliant willing Jell-O in your arms.”

“Am I usually on top or bottom?” Rodney asked, interest piqued. An erection generally made Rodney at least 75% more receptive to anything John said. Too bad it wasn’t a usable tactic in staff meetings. Although, it bore further thought. There _had_ to be a way that wouldn’t get John fired.

“It’s actually pretty much 50/50,” John said. “Of the ones I’ve read. There’s a lot of it. Though the ones that get into S&M seem to mostly agree that I’m the dominant and you’re submissive.”

“We’ve never tried that,” Rodney said, and there was a speculative gleam in his eye. 

“I’ve tied you up,” John said, letting his eyebrows convey a great deal more meaning. Rodney’s cock jumped against John’s thigh.

“Oh yeah,” Rodney said, eyes glazing a little.

“I seem to recall you kiiiiinda liked it,” John said, slow and low and teasing. 

“Oh yeah,” Rodney said. 

“There’s a lot of stories where aliens make us do it,” John went on. “Fertility or trust rituals on other planets, and they make us fuck, and we totally, totally like it.”

“Thank God that’s never happened,” Rodney said. 

“Don’t jinx us,” John said. “Or it totally fuckin’ will.”

“Superstition is a sign of a primitive mind,” Rodney said far too primly for a man with his hard-on rubbing up against somebody’s thigh. 

“C’mon, Dr. Sex Genius,” John murmured, biting lightly at the edge of Rodney’s jaw. “Undo me with your big, capable, strong-fingered hands. Drive that huge throbbing manhood into that special place inside me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rodney said, “cut it out,” batting at him, but he dug his fingers into John’s asscheeks and lifted him off the desk to deposit him on the bed in an unexpected display of strength. 

John was laughing too hard to keep up the fake dirty talk, but he recovered enough as Rodney unbuckled his belt to pull the other man down and kiss him deeply. “I mean it though,” he said, “the only way you’re going to get me to shut up is to fuck me until I can’t remember how to talk.”

“Challenge accepted,” Rodney said, hauling John’s pants down off his hips. “I know a bunch of ways of shutting you up with my dick, Sheppard.”

John wriggled out of his t-shirt. Rodney’s room was the only place in all of Atlantis that was consistently a comfortable temperature, warm enough to be naked in as long as your blood was moving a little bit. They’d fixed the environmental controls as best they could, but it turned out there was a degree of crotchetiness that nothing could really banish. Not with the spare parts they had available, anyway. 

“Yeah but anyone could shut me up by plugging my mouth with it,” John said. “That wouldn’t take a genius. It takes a genius to shut me up by overloading my central nervous system through sexual stimulation. Aren’t you supposed to be a genius?”

Rodney pulled his shirt off, then stuck his tongue into John’s mouth to neatly sidestep the issue, and went to work on him with both hands and the tube of lube from the bedside drawer, and it was a matter of minutes before all John could really say was “yes” and “God” and “fuck” and “now, Rodney, God, now”. 

John tipped his head back and clamped his thighs around Rodney’s waist and grabbed the wall over his head to steady himself as Rodney got to work, rocking into him with a truly inspiring singleness of purpose. “Fuck,” John gasped, staring blankly, “oh fuck,” as Rodney shifted the angle just a little bit, just a little more — “Ah fuck,” John said, head snapping back as Rodney hit him just right, just there, “ah fuck— ah— yes— God— yes—“ It was definitely hotter than anything he’d read today, normal and real and everyday, and John knew he was just so goddamn fucking lucky, lucky to have this, for as long as it lasted, realer than anything he’d ever had before. 

“Rodney,” he panted, shivering on the edge as Rodney drove in relentlessly, one slick fist sliding tight but lazy along John’s straining cock, “ah, God, Rodney— fuck— oh fuck— oh fuck— yes,” and he shuddered, snapping his hips up and gritting his teeth to keep from shouting as he came. 

“God,” Rodney gasped, fucking him harder, “oh God, Sheppard, you’re perfect, you’re so fucking perfect, oh my God, oh my God,” and he was coming too, jerking and twitching, teeth closing on John’s shoulder almost but not quite hard enough to bruise. 

“Hnngh,” John said, breathing hard and grinning like an idiot as Rodney collapsed down onto him. He wrapped his arms around the other man’s broad torso, nuzzling in to the junction of his collarbone and neck tendon. “Mmm.”

They lay tangled together for a few minutes, heart rates ticking down toward sleepiness, and John drifted on a blissful, pleasant blankness. 

“Did it work?” Rodney asked finally, raising his head to look at John.

“Did what work,” John said, blinking at him.

“Ha ha,” Rodney said, and rolled them both over onto their sides, snuggled together as he pulled up the blankets. “I win.”

“Win what,” John said, eyes sinking closed as sleep pulled him under. The last thing he was aware of before he fell asleep entirely was Rodney kissing the side of his head. 


End file.
